Blood of a Warrior
by AkthariaJedi
Summary: It started with the dreams. Then a piercing headache. Then a swirling tornado of light, and an eerily familiar world. In an instant, her life was changed forever. She was transforming into something else. And not even the Avengers could save her.
1. Chapter 1

**Blood of a Warrior**

Chapter 1

* * *

 _Whoosh!_

Cheyenne ducked just in time as her opponent's fist flew within inches of her face. Her muscles tensed, and she lashed out with an uppercut to the ribs, desperate to land a hit.

Her opponent dodged, blocking her attack and spinning around with a swift roundhouse kick. Cheyenne blocked, barely deflecting the blow, and quickly sidestepped, giving her a clean shot to the back of the head. _Whack!_

The man stumbled, stunned by the blow. Huffing out a nervous breath, Cheyenne jumped on her chance and wrapped her arms around his neck in a chokehold. She leaned back, straining against his attempts to escape. She set her feet. The seconds seemed like hours. Then finally, she felt his body relax, falling limply against her grip.

Breathing out exhaustion, Cheyenne loosened her hold, grateful for the respite. She was about to set the man down, when suddenly he jerked up, knocking his fists into a weak spot on her arms and making her cry out in surprise. In an instant, the man was free of her hold and swept her legs out from under her, her body thudding ungracefully onto the ground.

Cheyenne coughed. "Ow . . ." The man started laughing; an amused, hearty chuckle. She lifted her head off of the bright green grass and grimaced, wishing it had been as soft of a cushion as it appeared. She gave him a half-hearted glare. "Oh, don't even start!"

Her brother grinned, mischief evident all over his face as he extended a hand to help her up. "I told you! You'll just have to keep practicing, otherwise there's no hope of ever throwing me to ground."

Cheyenne reluctantly took his hand and let him pull her upright, bits of grass and dirt falling off of her shirt. "Hey, I had you in a headlock! And a pretty good one at that: you were actually starting to pass out. C'mon, you were beaten by your little sis, and you know it," she huffed.

Tyler folded his arms and smirked. "Please, I had control the entire time. I just made you think I was passing out, 'cause then you would drop your guard. And that's exactly what you did."

Cheyenne sputtered, trying not to laugh. "Well how I am supposed to beat someone of such greater experience and has a black belt already?" She bowed dramatically, a small smile slipping through her goofy act. "O wise master Thinks-He-Knows-It-All?"

"Excuses, excuses." Tyler laughed again, and Cheyenne broke out into a grin, giving up on trying to harass him.

The sun beat down warmly, signaling the coming heat of a midsummer's afternoon. A cool breeze countered the sun's advances, ruffling the two siblings' clothes and brushing the grass back and forth in mini waves. Cheyenne inhaled deeply, grateful for the good weather and a chance for her older brother to be home again. Looking out to the tree line that stretched out behind their house, an idea quickly formed in her mind. "Hey, it's gonna get pretty hot out here soon; wanna head down to the creek?"

Tyler immediately took off, running at a nearly backwards angle as he shouted, "Last one there is buying lunch tomorrow!"

"Oh c'mon!" Cheyenne laughed and sprinted after him, disappearing into the shade of the trees.

* * *

"So how's college been treating you? Well, I assume, since you're still so dang fast?" Cheyenne teased. He, of course, had beaten her to the water's edge, already sitting at their favorite rocky shore when she arrived, shaking her head and out of breath.

Tyler leaned back and stretched his arms out. "Yeah, it's been good. Been meeting some great guys, all my classes are going alright, found a decent part-timer; so far, no major worries."

"Ooh, did you get a chance to watch _Age of Ultron_ yet? Or any more of the Doctor Who episodes I told you to watch?"

"You and your geek-ness," Tyler laughed. "No, not yet, my schedule's been kinda hectic. Looking forward to it though, those new trailers for _Ultron_ looked awesome."

"It was _really_ good," Cheyenne grinned. "Maybe this week we can remedy your lack of culture."

Tyler rolled his eyes, chuckling again. "Alright, sounds like a plan. Though knowing you, you could probably just recite the entire script to me and that'd be it." He elbowed her lightly. "How about you? Junior year give you any trouble?"

Cheyenne snorted, closing her eyes for a moment. "Ugh . . . let's just say I'm extremely thankful that I've only got one more year to go." She paused for a moment, listening to the gentle sounds of the water flowing past them. Her mind wandered, sifting through all the memories of the last few months, most of them not so pleasant. She sensed Tyler's mood sober, as though he was remembering the unpleasant moments too.

He waited a minute before voicing his thoughts. "How's everything going with Mom and Dad?"

"We've had our ups and downs the past few months." Rubbing her hands against her arms, she avoided making eye contact. "It's been getting better, but they still think I'm not living up to my potential. Which I just completely don't understand; I mean, I'm doing my best to step out and get involved in stuff – you know, find my niche and all that – but nothing seems to stick. I'm pretty good at some things that I've tried, and some of it's been fun, but none of it just feels right, you know?" She leaned forward and set her chin in her hand.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Tyler glanced at her, scratching his head. Both of them sat silently, absorbed by their thoughts.

Finally, Tyler spoke up again. "So . . . are you still having those weird dreams lately? I know you said that they'd slowed down a good bit for a while there."

Cheyenne fidgeted, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "They're, uh . . ." She swallowed nervously, remembering the first time she'd come to Tyler and tried to explain the strange, intense dreams she was suddenly having. The dreams had started just after the new year hit, and they came to her almost every night, getting more and more intense each time. Each one began with a man dressed in a long brown robe, like something a mage or wizard might wear, and he would try and tell her about some missing piece of her heritage. The man called himself Ancarion, and would insist that he knew who she really was. That he knew _what_ she really was. Then, he'd take her to a room with a balcony overlooking a breathtaking view of a mountain range, and, depending on the night, he'd teach her about one of two things: either about the history of the Skybenders (the race he claimed she was descended from), or about how she could control her supposed abilities. The dreams always ended with an argument from her, saying that this was just some weird dream and not real life.

But when the dreams kept coming, for several weeks and then eventually becoming several months, Cheyenne was desperate to tell someone what was going on. Tyler had been home for spring break, and she had explained everything to him. He'd assured her she wasn't going crazy, and after that, the dreams had slowed down, almost to the point of being nonexistent. Until about one month before summer began, and they'd come back in full force.

Cheyenne let out an exasperated sigh, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know how to describe it. All of a sudden they're back, every single night, and they're getting really vivid, like almost to the point where they seem completely real." She waved her hand. "I know they're not real, but it's getting kinda scary."

Tyler stared at her, concern evident on his face. "Weird . . . have you thought about maybe writing any of them down?" Cheyenne gave him an odd look. "I mean, maybe that would help; just getting it all down might clear your head. You know?"

She tilted her head to the side, letting the idea sink in. "I don't know. I guess it's worth a try."

Silence passed between them as they paused in thought. The heat of the afternoon seeped through the shady canopy above them, warming the air. Birds chirped from somewhere up in the trees, and the stream continued in it's steady, smooth flow.

Water. A slight ache began to throb in her head, along with a dry scratch in her throat. Cheyenne licked her lips. "Hey, do you think maybe we should go get some water? After that workout we had and the heat coming on now, it seems like a good idea."

Tyler perked up at the change to a less serious subject. "That sounds great actually; how about I run up to the house and bring some back? And maybe some of that ice cream I saw Mom stash in the freezer yesterday?" His mischievous grin came back, spreading wide across his face.

"Food snatcher," Cheyenne teased.

Tyler shrugged. "Hey, while I'm home, all food is free. Might as well enjoy it, am I right?" He laughed to himself as he got up and walked off towards the house, leaving Cheyenne alone with her thoughts.

Cheyenne sighed. Another breeze swept through the forest, rustling the leaves and blowing her hair to the side, exposing her neck to the refreshing coolness. She gazed at the stream, her eyes turning glassy as she thought deeply within herself. _Who am I, really?_ She hated to admit it, but the question bothered her a lot more than she had let on to Tyler. It wasn't just that she struggled to find a hobby or career path she would thrive with. No, it went beyond that; there was a deep sense that she was missing something. Something vital. A feeling that she was out of place here in the cycle of everyday life.

 _What am I missing?_

As if to answer, the ache that was throbbing in her brain sharpened, piercing like a migraine she had once a few years back. Wincing and clutching her head, Cheyenne stood to her feet. If she was this dehydrated, then she needed to get back to the house, or at least meet Tyler halfway. She took a step towards the path that lead to the backyard, but was stopped by a sudden stabbing pain in her chest. Grunting, she tried to steady herself as the throbbing in her head intensified, keeping in time with the pounding knives in her heart. She needed to get help, _now_.

Before she could even make a move to reach for her phone, a blinding flash of blue light shot out from within her; rushing, pulsing energy that swirled into a cyclone of raw power in seconds. Cheyenne gaped, her throat caught, gasping, unable to scream or shout for help. The energy grew brighter and rushed around her faster and faster, until she couldn't see anything outside the wall of pure light. Her heart pounded wildly, the pain in her head turning into agony, and something deep inside her soul snapped, like floodgates being opened for a tidal wave of sheer force to burst through. Her whole body shook. She couldn't hear. The light blinded her. She fell to her knees, tears welling in her eyes, praying for the chaos to end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blood of a Warrior**

Chapter 2

* * *

Cold.

That's all her mind could register. Dark, chilling cold, pressing against her face and arms. She tried to move, to stir herself back to consciousness. Her limbs ached, complaining loudly at her attempts. Her eyes opened slowly, clouded by spots in her vision. One by one she could feel her nerves start to respond, sending tingles up and down her spine as though her whole body had gone to sleep, like a foot that had been sat on for too long.

Something smooth and hard began to register against her skin. Her fingers twitched, sensing the cool surface beneath her. Blinking through her bleary eyesight, Cheyenne groaned and forced herself to move her head off of the ground, allowing her to better take in her surroundings.

She'd been lying face down on some kind of whitewashed, rock hard flooring, a chilling contrast to the warm summery air she was enjoying only moments ago. The tile stretched out far past her haphazard position, running down the length of what seemed to be some sort of hallway. Lining the white marble walls were various paintings and sculptures, placed strategically along the hallway like some sort of art gallery. Classical music and the sounds of violins drifted in from somewhere farther away, barely reaching her position where she was sprawled out in the middle of hall.

Her brow furrowed as she grimaced at how stiff she was. "What – what in the world just happened?" Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she clutched her head and tried to figure out how she could have possibly gotten here. Her body still ached and grumbled at her, demanding immediate attention. Cheyenne quickly ran her hands across her head, checking for any sort of wound or giant lump that would signal she was reacting to some sort of brain injury. Nothing. No signs of any injuries anywhere on her body.

 _Am I dreaming?_ She pinched her arm and lightly slapped her palm on her cheek a few times, all registering perfectly clear in her mind. "Ok . . . definitely not dreaming." Amnesia maybe? No, it couldn't be; as far as she could tell, there was nothing wrong, nothing to indicate what was going on. Everything felt fine.

 _Then why do I feel so . . . off?_

Slowly, carefully, Cheyenne rose to her feet, bracing herself in case her legs decided to give out. Stretching to her full height, her body seemed to come alive, senses alert and muscles taut, as though preparing for another sparring round with Tyler. She actually felt really – oddly – well-balanced after being unconscious.

"Okay, add that to the list of weird," she muttered, reaching her hand into her shorts pocket and pulling out her cell phone. If she was suddenly experiencing blackouts, and quite possibly amnesia, then at least Tyler or her parents could come find her and set her straight. She turned her phone on. Just before she could enter the number, a symbol at the top of the screen caught her attention. No signal.

"Uh, okay . . ." Sticking her phone back in her pocket, Cheyenne glanced around the hall and huffed out a sigh. The music of the violins continued to play, echoing throughout the building with every note. Cheyenne listened thoughtfully, taking a step towards the music's source. "Okay, there's got to be someone around here who can tell me where I am," she muttered quietly, continuing to walk down the hall. "Music plus art gallery equals people, right? And people equals help." She rubbed her bare arms, attempting to warm them up against the chill in the air. Her skin tingled, and an odd sensation, something like an urgent whisper, pricked the back of her mind as she made her way towards the music. Cheyenne pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head at the feeling, waving it off as an aftereffect of her blackout. An itch crawled up her back, settling itself between her shoulder blades before disappearing again.

As she neared the end of the long hallway, the sound of a man's voice echoed up from another room, blending with the violins as he gave what sounded like some sort of speech. Cheyenne paused for a minute and listened closely. The man's words were completely indecipherable, jumbled together in a way she couldn't understand. _Is that even English? Where the heck am I?_

Beyond the hallway's entrance, a balcony stretched outwards in two directions, the way to the left leading to more halls filled with fine art, and the other, to the right, seemed to lead to a staircase that connected with the lower level. Cheyenne edged closer to the white marble railings, peering over the edge at the massive, open room below.

Men and women crowded together, dressed in formal black attire and sipping on glasses of champagne. The violins were positioned off to the side, playing more softly now than they had been before. The man she had heard stood on a small, slightly raised platform, continuing with his speech into a microphone. His voice rang clearly and confidently throughout the room, and all the guests were listening with rapt attention. Cheyenne titled her head, trying to make out what the man was saying. It definitely wasn't English; it sounded like German, or some other similar European language. Glancing back at the way she had come, her brow furrowed as her brain groped for some sort of logical explanation. How in the world did she end up here, at some foreign art event? The only time she'd ever been this far away from home was . . . well, never, actually. The whispering in the back of her mind escalated, pushing and grabbing for her attention. Cheyenne shook her head again. _I need to call Mom and Dad, like, now._

Quickening her pace, she hurriedly walked towards the stairs, hoping someone down there could speak English. She was almost to her goal when suddenly the sensation in her mind sharpened, from a fleeting whisper to a blaring alarm, tingling inside her skull like a thousand tiny bees buzzing and vibrating around her brain. Cheyenne stopped dead in her tracks. The feeling wasn't painful, but she started to feel a wave of nausea, deep in her gut, warning her that there was something very, very wrong.

"What is going on with me?" She pressed her hands against her temples, trying desperately to silence the eerie alarm. The dull itch in her back became aggravated, shooting along her spine in rapid bursts as the space between her shoulder blades started to burn. The world around her seemed to sharpen into focus, not in her vision, but in a deep, concealed instinct, something that was rapidly rushing to the surface. Her heart beat faster and her mind shuddered, agitated by something dark; something close.

That's when she heard the screams.

Cheyenne swallowed, wincing at the shrill sounds and her mouth dry with fear as her muscles shook, trembling with force that welled up from far down inside her. She shuffled to the back of the railing, barely able to move with the amount of sheer _otherness_ pounding through her blood. She couldn't speak. She couldn't scream for help. She just moved.

Gasping for breath under the pressure, she braced herself on the railing nearest to the stairs and searched for what was making everyone panic and run for the doors as fast as their feet could carry them. Hardly anyone remained, the few stragglers staring wide-mouthed in horror at two figures in the center of the room. Cheyenne turned her attention to them. Two men were grabbing at each other in a desperate struggle, one flat on his back over an ornate sculpture, and the other, a tall, black-haired man, held him down forcefully, jamming something into his victim's eye. Cheyenne gaped. She stumbled back from the railing and forced herself to run down the stairs. _I have to get out of here!_

Her gut churned. The staircase seemed to go on forever, her legs shaking as she tried to contain the rising adrenaline that threatened to freeze her with shock. None of this made sense. Where was her family? Why was she in a German art gallery with some crazy madman? The burning itch in her shoulders felt like lava was oozing through her bones, the pain pushing her to run faster. She could've sworn she felt a vertebrae snap beneath her skin.

Scrambling down the last few steps, she glanced back at the danger unfolding in the middle of the room. The captive man twitched violently and suddenly went limp, the dark-haired man pulling back and stowing a strange device in his overcoat pocket. Cheyenne gulped. Something about this seemed ominously familiar. Her heart pounded as the man turned to face the door, grinning maliciously as the remaining men and women snapped out of their shock and bolted for the exit.

Cheyenne felt her heart stop cold.

The man . . . h-he was _Loki!_ As in _the AVENGERS_ Loki! The internal alarm that had been buzzing in her mind screamed at her to run, her pulse resuming its ear-splitting pounding. The last few guests ran past her, one of the women letting out a terrified shriek. Her legs felt like jelly. Her stomach rolled with nausea at the evil she could sense rolling off of him. Loki tightened his grip on his scepter, head high in dominance as he strode slowly towards her and the exit behind her. Cheyenne staggered backwards and spun to face the door in a stumbling rush to make it outside. Her palms slapped against the cold metal of the door handle. In an instant her bare legs and arms were met with the chilling night air, and her ears assaulted by wailing police sirens and fearful screams. "This can't be happening," her voice came out in a shaky whisper. Chaos was everywhere. A fictional demigod behind her, and the scene of a movie unfolding before her; how was this not a dream?

Suddenly a surge of energy exploded through her body, knocking her to her knees. She cried out, trembling at the force coursing through her blood. Her arms ached, and her shock rose even higher than she thought possible: the same blue light that had rushed around her in a tornado what seemed like just moments ago was pulsing visibly through her veins, the bright force glowing out from beneath her skin. The scalding heat in her back pushed and scratched at the tissue between her shoulders like an animal trying to claw its way out. More vertebrae snapped and shifted as a growth broke through her skin, tearing her shirt and rapidly gaining weight and mass. Cheyenne gasped as black spots dotted her vision again, threatening to toss her into unconsciousness. _No! Do not pass out; pass out and you're dead._ She tried to force herself to her feet, but was met by a rough hand to the back of her neck.

Cheyenne tried to break the hold, like Tyler had taught her to do. But the hand yanked her up off the ground and forcefully dragged her to the terrified crowd. She whipped her head around to look at her attacker just as he sneered at her, "Stay with the rest of them, weakling." Loki threw her back to the ground at his feet, turning his attention back to his captives. He shouted and slammed his scepter against the road. "I said: _KNEEL!_ "

Cheyenne's body shook as she writhed on the ground, trying her hardest not to move at the strength of the change that was racking her body. The hostage audience fell eerily silent as they kneeled in front of Loki, who was now in his full battle attire. She swallowed nervously, knowing exactly what was coming next and completely failing to convince herself it wasn't real. Loki walked confidently into the crowd.

"Is not this, simpler? Is this not your natural state?" He made his way into the middle of the crowd, enunciating his infamous speech with subtle, condescending gestures. The people shuffled as far away from him as possible, those closest trembling with fear. "It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity." Cheyenne flinched at the sly venom in his words, her gut twisting against the darkness she could somehow feel. Her body felt like it had been scorched by fire, and her muscles ached from the agonizing stress of whatever was going on inside her. She had to do something, to get out of this nightmare, but she didn't dare move.

Loki paused in his walk through the victims, drawing out his tone in a low, sly tone. "You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel." There was a pause as something shifted amidst the crowd.

 _Oh no._ The man. The man who stood up to Loki. Without a second thought, Cheyenne shoved herself to her knees and into a squatting position, forcing herself to stand again. She heard the elderly man's voice call out with humble confidence.

"Not to men like you."

Cheyenne could sense the smirk on Loki's face. "There are no men like me." She braced herself on her feet, part of her screaming that this was the stupidest thing to do. Then it dawned on her. _Where's the plane? The quinjet?_ There was no sign of the inevitable Captain America anywhere. _Oh no._

The old man had smiled. "There are always men like you."

Loki raised his scepter, the blue glow of the Mind Stone buzzing as it powered up. "Look to your elder people." He pointed the blade towards the man. "Let him be an example."

"HEY!"

Cheyenne felt an immense surge of power rush through her as she stared Loki in the face, immediately regretting her decision. Loki wheeled around, the charged blast from his scepter firing right at her. Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as they dodged the bolt. Instinct took control, and she threw her hands up to block, expecting the energy to kill her any moment. Instead, a new flash of light burst from her hands into a bright blue shield, deflecting the blast into oblivion.

Cheyenne gasped, staggering backwards. The energy shield dissipated, leaving her with just her bare hands again, both wreathed in ethereal blue smoke. Loki yelled in fury over the din of screaming hostages. Stunned by what had just come out of her, she narrowly missed getting stabbed as Loki launched himself at her, swinging his scepter down in a crushing sweep. Her arm came up to greet it, the golden metal stopped short by her block. Loki's eyes widened, just as shocked as Cheyenne was that she wasn't completely destroyed by his Asgardian strength. Cheyenne locked eyes with him, shaking in terror as the god of mischief swung at her again and again, her barely managing to block each blow just before they could strike.

Suddenly Loki switched tactics, feigning a slice to the right while lashing out with his left foot into her ribcage, catching her off guard and knocking her backwards. Cheyenne froze unwillingly as her body caved into the impending physical shock, and Loki took his chance, whipping around and plunging his blade into her gut.

A new form of pain seared Cheyenne's senses as she screamed, falling flat on the ground as Loki pulled the scepter out. Cheyenne clutched her wound and frantically glanced up at the sound of a plane arriving, followed by a pair of boots hitting the ground and a familiar shield whirring through the air. The round shield slammed into Loki, knocking him away from her as Captain America jumped onto the scene, carrying out a hurried and frantic battle with Loki a few feet away. Cheyenne struggled to move, blood streaming out across her fingers. Her heart and back suddenly filled with searing heat again, making her cry out and writhe against the pain. Blackness swarmed in her vision, her ears barely registering the sounds of music blaring across the plaza. _No . . . have to . . . stay awake . . ._ She felt her arms go numb, darkness swallowing her once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Blood of a Warrior**

Chapter 3

Steve Rogers usually wasn't one to be taken by surprise. After combating Hydra and the Nazis during World War II, he had seen a number of weird and sometimes unexplainable things. No matter what they saw, he and his Howling Commandos would always push on, driving the enemy back despite the strange forces their foes would acquire. Whatever came at them, was their reality, and he had taken it in stride.

But that was before he woke up one day in the twenty-first century. That in itself would be a shock for anybody. He had missed an entire seventy years of his life, trapped and preserved in the ice, only to awaken to a completely different world; a world without a war. Then there had been the tidal wave of brand new technology. And of course the total culture shock. But as strange and surprising as all of that had been, nothing could have prepared him for the shocker he was in now. In just a matter of days, SHIELD had called him back into service, saying that a Norse god had stolen the Tesseract and was about to invade the world with it. Today, he was back on German soil, standing in the aftermath of a brawl with said Asgardian, next to the heavily armored son of one of his friends from during the war. Who could tell how the world would get even crazier?

Steve sighed and nodded to the man next to him. "Mr. Stark."

"Captain." Tony Stark nodded back, the robotics of his high tech Iron Man suit distorting his voice. Steve didn't even try to imagine how Stark had managed to build that thing. If this was the world he lived in now, then he would just have to accept it and try to not make his brain explode from attempting to figure it all out.

The hum of the quinjet droned closer as Natasha brought the aircraft in for a landing, settling it right in the middle of the square. Steve kept a wary eye on Loki as he turned towards the jet. Something didn't feel quite right about this whole thing, but at least Loki had surrendered, rather than put more people in danger. Now they just had to make sure he got back to the helicarrier in one piece.

A hiss sounded as the back door of the quinjet opened, lowering to the cobblestone street and revealing Natasha standing just inside the moving platform. She hurried out into the chill night air with what looked like a med kit in hand. She gestured to Steve. "Rogers, hurry over here and help me with this."

Steve glanced to where she was headed, seeing the limp form of the girl Loki had stabbed just before he'd arrived on the scene. "Keep an eye on Loki," he muttered to Stark as he jogged over to Natasha's position. His face fell at the grim picture that was presented to them.

The girl could have only been around sixteen or seventeen, dressed in thin, summery clothes that didn't fit well with the brisk European night. Her eyes were wide open, though they had glazed over from the shock. Her motionless, blood-soaked hands still clutched at the deep gash in her stomach. Natasha was rapidly peeling apart bandages and pressing them against the wound in an attempt to stop the blood that continued to ooze out from under the girl's fingertips.

Steve knelt down and helped Natasha wrap a binding tightly around the girl's waist. "How is she?"

Natasha didn't slow down for a second as she replied. "Not good; Loki's scepter sliced her clean through, and she's already lost a lot of blood. She's still breathing, barely, so we might be able to help her pull through, but that's only if we can get her back to the helicarrier in time to get her treatment." She pointed to something unusual on the girl's neck that Steve hadn't noticed. "You see that there, just under the skin?" He looked closely, and sure enough, there were small streams of blue energy pulsing under the girl's skin, like tiny rivers webbed throughout her bloodstream.

"What is that? It looks like something from Loki's scepter."

Natasha nodded in confirmation. "If that's some sort of spell or aftereffect of the scepter, then all the more reason we need her on our ship. Whether she survives or not, we'll need every bit of data on this thing as we can get." She secured the last of the bandage and quickly packed away the remaining supplies before standing to her feet. "Let's go. If you wouldn't mind, Captain." She nodded towards the girl.

"Of course." Steve gingerly lifted the unconscious girl off of the ground and moved into the quinjet, watching Stark lead Loki towards them out of the corner of his eye. _Looks like Stark's got him under control for now._ He carefully laid the girl down against one of the seats along one side of the jet's interior, strapping her in as best he could. He noticed her back was sitting awkwardly against the seat, arched up in an unnatural way, like something was pushing her out and away from it. He thought about investigating, but decided against it since they would be airborne in a few moments.

Stark led Loki up the ramp and roughly pushed him into a seat across from the girl, activating the ramp's closing mechanism as he passed by it. "Hurry up and get him strapped in, we need to get back right now," Natasha called back from her place in the cockpit. Steve tightly gripped an overhanging handle on the ceiling, readying himself for takeoff. He glanced back at the two new individuals confined to the seats, sighing silently to himself. Hopefully they would all make it in time, before either one of them turned into a disaster.

* * *

 _"Cheyenne. Cheyenne!"_

 _Cheyenne blinked. Her senses felt dulled, almost numb. Where was she? She had just been dreaming about . . . something. Right?_

 _"Cheyenne Dalton, you must get up!"_

 _The voice echoed through the gray haze that surrounded her, stirring her mind into a weak focus. "Tyler?" Cheyenne blinked again, the foggy atmosphere sharpening in her vision, revealing a hooded, robed man standing within the mist. He called out to her again, his voice urgent._

 _"Cheyenne, you must listen to me. Wake up, child!" He stepped closer, his cloak billowing and dispersing the nearby fog._

 _"Ancarion?" She squinted. His voice was so familiar, even in her dazed mind._

 _"Good, you recognize me at least." He knelt down on one knee and looked deep into her eyes. Cheyenne blinked again. His eyes were so bright; like perfect emeralds, the kind most people would only ever find in a book. His skin was tinged with a golden color, a shining contrast to the deep black hair she could see peeking out from under his hood. He reached out to grasp her face, his gold-skinned hand angling her chin so she couldn't look away from him. "You must listen to me Cheyenne. Do you know what is happening to you right now?"_

 _The hazy realm seemed to swirl, making her wince as her muddled thoughts tried to make sense of what had happened. "I . . . I was dreaming about something from the Avengers, I think and –" Her jaw clenched. "Loki stabbed me in Germany, or something like that." She shifted uncomfortably, squirming under Ancarion's grip. "Why? How does that fit into all the stuff you usually cram into my dreams?"_

 _Ancarion's face was deadly serious. "This is not a dream, Cheyenne! You are in real danger, and you must not let your old belief of the world's structure cloud your judgement!" He brought his other hand down to her stomach and pressed on her wound, hard. Cheyenne cried out. Her senses instantly came alive and the misty landscape shook, blurring for a moment before coming back into focus. Her eyes widened as she tried to get up off of the murky, dream-hazed ground, but Ancarion held her in place, his steely gaze never wavering for a second._

 _Cheyenne glared at him. "What is going on? How is ANY of this real?" She choked on her next words, feeling something shift in her back again. "What is happening to me?"_

 _Ancarion's eyes softened. He released her face, glancing down as she caught her breath. "Cheyenne, I do not have much time. I can only speak to you while you are unconscious, either from sleep or injury. What you feel inside of you is a process known as the Birthright, the transformation that happens to every Aktharian race when their descendants come of age."_

 _"Aktharia?"_

 _Ancarion sighed. "Yes, that is the world, or dimension, rather, that I am from. I will have to explain that later. The Birthright is when the young ones, at age sixteen, are transformed by Aktharia's atmosphere, gaining the powers and abilities according to their race. Elves wield magic, Dragonars gain their scales, wings, and fire, and so on. You are a Skybender, Cheyenne. I meant to bring you into Aktharia to help you with your Birthright since you are already past sixteen, but you have fallen into another dimension, and your body is struggling to process the small amount of atmosphere you were exposed to on the way."_

 _Cheyenne struggled to comprehend what he was saying. "Wait, what exactly am I becoming?" Her voice rose in slight panic, causing the dreamscape to shudder again._

 _Ancarion glanced worriedly at their surroundings. "We're running out of time; you're waking up." He stood quickly, staring at her intently again. "Cheyenne, don't fight what is happening to you. Stay alert, try to survive and get accustomed to your new form quickly. And above all remember what I taught you in the past about yourself, otherwise your power will be out of control." The misty haze began to brighten and Ancarion's hooded form flickered. He shouted, his voice crackling like static on a faulty radio. "I will try to find a way to bring you here, as soon as I can. Just hold on!"_

 _Cheyenne tried to stand, but felt something unseen wrapped around her, restricting her movements. "Wait! No!" She cried out desperately as he continued to fade. "Why is this happening to me? What's so important about me?" She winced as the dull pain in her gut sharpened again, pulling her back to consciousness. "No! I just want to go home . . ."_

* * *

". . . just want to go home." Her lips were heavy and numb. Her head was spinning as her awareness shot up, up, up back to reality.

"She's awake!"

The voice pierced her like an electric shock. Cheyenne snapped wide awake, immediately blinded by white light; her lungs burning as she gasped for air. Her body shot upward, and somebody shouted. Cheyenne winced at the overload to her senses. Everything was too bright; too loud.

A firm hand suddenly pressed down on her forehead, pushing her back down against a hard, cold surface. Her arms stiffened. "Who's there?" she squeaked. She tried to push off her captor, but thick straps had her wrists pinned to the table. Her heart skipped a beat. "Where am I?" she cried out.

"Miss, I'm going to need you to calm down."

Cheyenne blinked against the harsh lights. Her vision was in and out of focus, but more of the room started to take shape as her body remembered its senses. The unnatural light reflected off of the near-white walls, and the room immediately felt sickly and cramped. Cheyenne squinted and tried to hold back the disorientation. The only offset to the sheer white were the few figures clad in black; one of them standing at the foot of the table she had been tied to. The man shifted, noticing her attention on him. He nodded to someone behind her, and the hand that was holding her down lifted.

Cheyenne looked past her shoulder. Another man, dressed in black police armor of some sort, was backing away to stand in a new position behind her. Cheyenne gulped. He was carrying an assault rifle, and armed with various pistols strapped to his belt. The man stared straight ahead, his gaze holding right above . . .

Her blood froze.

Stretched out in front of the armored man and the far wall, there was an enormous, white _wing_ , held down by the same kind of straps that pinned her wrists. Her breath caught as her body told her who the wing belonged to before her eyes could follow. And that there was a matching one on the other side.

She didn't dare breathe. "What . . ."

The man by her feet cleared his throat. "Now that we have your attention, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Her wide eyes snapped to Coulson, who took a few steps around the edge of the hospital-like bed to better communicate. "What is happening?" she whispered. Coulson observed the turmoil wracking her mind, his face still.

 _Wings._ Forget facing the Loki and the Avengers; what had _happened_ to her _?_ Shivers snaked up her spine, spreading across unfamiliar muscles and nerves and stirring sensations she'd never had before. Her throat tightened. Her back was getting maddeningly uncomfortable; fast.

"I understand what you're experiencing is unusual, and that you're scared," Coulson began. "But we need you to stay with us for the moment, so we can all figure out what's going on."

Cheyenne's mind spun. "What is happening?" She shook her head. "This can't be real." She stared straight at Coulson, waiting for shock to finally wake her up from this nightmare. She swallowed. "It can't be."

"Regrettably, I'm afraid it is happening. If you cooperate, we can help you understand more about the changes you've been through, but as I stated, we need to talk to you about some things first." Coulson adjusted the clipboard he'd been holding to a better position. "Let's start with your name."

Cheyenne blinked in disbelief. Looking around the room again, she noticed more armored guards standing by a door, and cameras scattered throughout the room. All watching her. All waiting to see what she'd do. It was almost too much to try and gather her thoughts.

She was a freak. A winged, insane freak.

She cleared her throat. "I'm . . . m-my name is Cheyenne Dalton," he began, her voice raw with fear.

Coulson watched her closely, as if expecting her to lie. "Where are you from?"

Cheyenne risked a glance at the cameras. She lowered her gaze to her lap, mind reeling. "Glasgate, Missouri."

Coulson paused, weighing her answers. Cheyenne swallowed the nausea that swam in her gut. If this was real, then she had to tell the truth. It was bizarre, and everything felt so wrong, but the last thing she needed was to make enemies.

Coulson studied his clipboard for a moment. One of the door guards lifted a hand to their ear, as if listening to someone over a com device. Cheyenne quickly noted the earpiece Coulson was wearing. Who was on the other side? Nick Fury? An Avenger? The presence of the cameras meant someone had to be out there. Her skin crawled at the closeness of the walls. The air was too tight; too stale and dry.

"What were you doing in Germany, Miss Dalton?"

Her mind flashed back to fuzzy memories of Loki and the art gallery, making her wince as the phantom pain of the blows he'd given her whispered across her skin. A dull ache throbbed in her abdomen where the scepter had sliced clean through. For a moment, she felt the cold metal strike her, and gasped.

"Miss Dalton?" Coulson's tone turned insistent.

Cheyenne looked to the part of her shirt that had been lifted up, exposing a clean bandage wrapped around her midsection. The wound should be killing her, or at least hurt to no end, but her skin was cold, and thick, with no tingle or hint of discomfort. Bile rose in her throat.

Coulson cleared his throat and sharpened his voice. "Miss Dalton, you do understand that you were attacked by someone we can essentially classify as an intergalactic terrorist. The man who stabbed you, and the scepter he used, are not of this world. One of the many things he has been able to do is turn good, sound men into his own slaves, and right now we're very concerned about what he may have done to you. You understand why you've been restrained and kept under watch." His tone softened as he continued, "Until we can know for sure, you may not be yourself, Miss Dalton, in any sense or form. For your safety, and ours, we ask that you tell us anything you can remember, or anything you're experiencing that might be able to help."

His words slipped right past her. Sounds were loud and quiet and roaring all at once, wrapped in a deafening silence that was swallowing her whole. The giant bones jutting out from her shoulders weighed down heavily against her spine, echoing the weary muscles in her wide eyes. She felt numb; lost in an ever-deepening abyss.

Coulson watched her closely, and she felt a twinge of concern pass through him. His face softened, and he spoke with a quieter, more sympathetic approach. "When you're ready, don't hesitate to talk to us. We're here to help, Miss Dalton, if you'll let us." Tucking the clipboard under his arm, Coulson walked out of the room through the now open door. Leaving one guard standing outside, the white door slid shut and left Cheyenne alone in her thoughts.

The emptiness didn't register at first. A draft entered the room – some sort of AC, she figured numbly, since the air was cool – and ruffled the long feathers at the ends of her wings.

A muscle twitched at the sensation, and Cheyenne jumped. The wings involuntarily tugged inwards, sparking pressure against the arches of the massive span. Her breath hitched. Cheyenne pulled against the bands on her wrists. Her heart beat faster and faster, and she shook her head in the rising panic. She was alone. Changed. Trapped in her own body; though it felt nothing like it should.

Panting, she yanked on the straps one final time, tears starting to fall from her eyes. She leaned back against the stiff back of the bed and exhaled. She couldn't cry. She blinked away the tears, sniffling. This wasn't her world. This wasn't her body. But she wouldn't fall apart; she had to find a way to keep moving, and figure out how to get back to reality. That's what Tyler would do: he would adapt, and he would find a way to survive.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. If this was a dream, or some crazy hallucination, she would take it by throat and get through it. She would make it back somehow.

* * *

Steve crossed his arms as he watched the strange girl fight her way through confusion and panic. He, Natasha, and Director Fury had watched the interrogation through the cell's camera's, and none of them were sure of how to respond. Or at least he wasn't sure what to think; the other two were impossible to read.

Agent Coulson approached from where he'd been studying another screen. Fury didn't look his way when he asked, "Find anything yet?"

Coulson shook his head, joining them in their observation. The girl had leaned back and closed her eyes, most likely to try and compose herself. "No, sir. She doesn't have any records anywhere, by name, DNA, blood testing, fingerprinting; even facial recognition isn't picking her up. Glasgate is a real place, but there's no record of any Dalton's living there for over a hundred years."

"So she doesn't exist?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Technically speaking, no." Coulson crossed his arms and shook his head once more. "She doesn't exist anywhere in the world, until she showed up in Germany."

"Right as Loki was making a public move." Natasha shifted her weight. "It doesn't add up; Loki used that scepter to kill before, and no one else has showed symptoms like that. What makes her different?"

Steve snorted. "I doubt Loki intended to change her into something. He attacked her with a killing blow, and didn't expect her to walk away. She shouldn't have walked away from a wound like that."

Fury mused on their comments, nodding his head and stepping away from the camera feed. "Keep an eye on her, and on Loki. Whether they're connected or not, we need to be very careful with our next move. The Tesseract is our priority now, and we can't afford to let either one get in the way." With that, he strode off to attend to other matters.

Natasha turned to follow. "I'll check in on Stark and Dr. Banner and see what they've come up with." She looked at Steve expectantly. "Care to join, Captain?"

Still chewing on the new mysteries, Steve didn't say a word as he followed Natasha to the lab, trying not to notice how tense everyone around them was. They all had every right to be, and something definitely smelled off about the girl. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to find out very soon.


End file.
